


Shards and Debris

by CodenameAntarctica



Series: Beyond the shallow ground [2]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Declarations Of Love, From Sex to Love, Hope vs. Despair, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodenameAntarctica/pseuds/CodenameAntarctica
Summary: (Spoilers for chapter 88 and set at the morning after)(Continuation of'Six Minutes')Rationality – which was supposed to always have precedency over his mind – was not at its best this morning. And probably hadn’t been for a while. Probably hadn’t been since he had seen real love – between the debris of a crumbling building.He looked away when the image returned into his mind, sending a burning into his eyes. He couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t think about what he would never find, would never have, because that would squeeze his chest and throat until he could hardly breath and inevitably the nightmares would return. The nightmares Mikhail Arbatov had – for whatever reason – managed to scare away for one night.
Relationships: Asami Ryuichi/Takaba Akihito, Liu Fei Long/Yoh (Finder Series), Mikhail Arbatov/Liu Fei Long
Series: Beyond the shallow ground [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033884
Comments: 43
Kudos: 88





	1. Fei Long

The ride in the private elevator up to the 90th floor took a bit longer than a minute, in which Fei Long stared at the marble wall decorations. They were so dark, shiny and smooth that they basically worked like a mirror and he could see himself in them. The view made him sigh deeply.

He had finally found some rest last night, had fallen asleep quickly, had not once woken up until the puny first light of the approaching winter’s dawn had dared to seep through the hotel room’s windows. But it had only been a few hours of peace, then he had snatched his clothes, had dressed quickly and in silence, and had left, wandering the grey streets of Hong Kong for only a few minutes because the IFC – with Baishe HQ and his private loft – was just around the corner. He should have gone home then, taking a shower, maybe sleeping for another few hours, but he had decided against it, had called for one of his cars to pick him up and sunk into the dark leather seat, leaning his head against the cold window.

As 7am had hardly passed the rush hour wasn’t at its maximum yet, still the trip that might have been done in a quarter of an hour took them nearly forty minutes. In front of Queen Mary’s hospital, the black limousine had drawn into a parking lot and Fei Long had gotten out, straightening his waistcoat, jacket and coat which held together the shirt Mikhail Arbatov had ripped open last night, and adjusting his badly tied cravat which helped to hide the empty buttonholes.

Visiting Asami and Akihito had become an everyday habit of his in the last three weeks. He would sit by their side, hold their hands which were usually rather cold, would often enough feel inadequate and at a loss for anything sensible to say. Sometimes he stayed only for minutes, sometimes for an hour or two, depending on how busy his schedule was, but he had come everyday, and none of the hospital’s staff dared to lecture him about visiting hours anymore. Afterall he had literally bought the whole corridor and all adjacent rooms, clearing it of other patients and leaving Asami’s own men to watch over both, armed and ready.

But in all the time and no matter what he had done, they were both unchanged. Akihito had been put into an artificial coma due to his head injury. And though all the doctors swore that there was no threat to his life anymore and that there would be no aftereffects, they declined to wake him up, allegedly waiting for some signs of healing, taking x-rays and MRIs every other day.

Asami on the other hand had been sedated by strong anesthetics to help him heal, from which he had to be slowly weaned.

Seeing them like that had made Fei Long remember the moment he had found them in between the debris of the collapsing warehouse, holding tight to each other, consent with dying if only they were together…

In the elevator he ran his hands over his face. The memory had given him nightmares, each and every time he had wanted to sleep, but not due to worry or fear for Asami and Akihito. They would be alright, he knew that. The reason was something else entirely.

The only night since in which he had not been haunted by that image had been the last and remembering how he had stolen himself from the hotel room like a thief, made his chest feel somewhat heavy. He swallowed against the pressure.

It was stupid to feel guilty. It had been a one-night stand. More like a deal… just like the first time. Still, he found himself chewing his lower lip, knowing that something was bothering him, which he could not yet grasp clearly.

The moment the elevator chimed to declare its arrival to the 90th floor, Fei Long stepped outside, weapons pointing at him for one second and put away the next. His men bowed to him, greeted him and he drew the front of his coat closer together though he was sure that it still hid the torn shirt underneath perfectly.

He waved away one of his secretaries and told him to postpone all schedules of the day, then entered the private apartment on the top floor, closing the door behind him and leaning his back against it.

Once again, he sighed deeply. He felt drained and tired but wasn’t sure if he actually needed sleep. Staring at the thick carpet that extended all the way through the large main corridor, he bit his lip again. Something told him that whatever ailment had befallen him was less physical than psychological – or rather spiritual. Pushing away from the door he chased the thought away. He could not allow himself that kind of sentiment.

A moment later Tao stepped into the corridor and came running right away.

“Fei Long-sama”, he chimed, stopping just a step in front of his master. The boy had grown much in the last month and was slowly becoming lanky and gawky, as if his limbs were just too far away to understand everything the brain wanted them to do. Yan had been like that at that age, but that as well was a thought Fei Long shoved away.

“Good morning, Tao. Isn’t it time for your private lessons?”

The boy frowned at him, staring him up and down for a moment, and Fei Long fingers snatched the front of his coat again.

“Yes. In a moment. But… where have you been?”, he asked. He had also turned to being quite cheeky now and then.

“I visited Akihito and Asami”, Fei Long answered, knowing that that would not fully explain why he had been gone from midnight until now, and hoping that Tao would leave it at that.

Oddly enough he did, in fact nodding as if this was just some confirmation that he had been craving.

“Um…”, he started then, raising one hand to point to one of the living rooms adjacent to the corridor. “There is a guest for you.”

Fei Long had just stepped away, heading for his bedroom but stopped immediately. “What? Who?”, he blinked at the kid in confusion.

“His name his Mikhail Arbatov. He brought your scarf. He said you forgot it at some business meeting last night.”

Fei Long felt his mouth form some words without speaking them aloud. Warmth shot into his cheeks, imagining all the stupid things the Russian could have told the boy, so he turned away from Tao who now beckoned him to follow.

“That man is kind of important, isn’t he?”

“Why?”, Fei Long asked damning his own voice which might give his discomfort away, but Tao did not seem to notice.

“Well… I think he was here before, wasn’t he? And the guys just let that man in. He didn’t want to hand over the scarf to just _anybody_. But no one knew you weren’t here, so … he ended up with me. He wanted to give me the scarf and leave but he looked…”, Tao paused, screwing his eyebrows together as if thinking hard, then continued: “kind of wind-swept?”

“How do you mean?” Fei Long asked, not understanding what the child wanted to say, but Tao just raised his shoulders to his ears. Then he continued, with a slowly darkening gaze: “He said you went to a hotel nearby to see some people about some business affairs last night which you couldn’t get out of your head. And that you were so tired afterwards you might have taken a room in that hotel. Is that true. Is _that_ why you couldn’t sleep last night? Why you’re having nightmares?”

“Something like that. I really don’t want to talk about this now, Tao. And I think it really is time for your private lessons.”

“Huh!”, made the teenager, pouting. He opened the door to the larger one of the two living rooms, marching straight through it determinedly. “I hope you enjoy your tea”, he bellowed, before pulling the next door shut behind him more forcefully than necessary.

With a deep breath Fei Long stepped into the room and found Mikhail in one of the antique Chinese chairs.

The blonde man got up the second he spotted Fei Long.

“Good morning”, he whispered and repeated it a bit stronger right after.

“Good morning”, Fei Long retorted. He had stopped at the door, leaving much of the large room between them. Whatever Tao had meant by ‘wind-sept’ he didn’t know. The Russian was styled from head to toe like any other day. But maybe his eyes were a bit darker now, as if a single dark cloud had waltzed in front of the sun on an otherwise blue sky.

“Cute kid”, he added after a moment, nodding towards where Tao had vanished.

“He’s becoming a handful”, the Chinese admitted, stepping closer but still keeping the table and other chairs between him and the other man. “What are you doing here?”

With a quick movement Mikhail snatched the cashmere scarf from the table and held it up. “Your scarf. You forgot it.”

Fei Long blinked at him.

“You could have left it at the concierge on the first floor.”

Mikhail shook his head. “I didn’t want to give it to just anybody. If anybody is going to build a shrine out of your belongings, that will be me!”, he gleamed, and his eyes seemed to light up. But only for a second.

When Fei Long felt himself frown, he could see the cloud returning.

“Sorry”, Mikhail said, looking away. “You know. I still have that flowered necktie. You forgot it… the… the first time.”

For a few seconds Fei Long stared at him, thinking, then he remembered. Yes, he had worn some flower-patterned necktie when he had gone to meet Mikhail to bargain him into fighting Chernobog. Not much had come off that night in the long run and after being involved in a car crash, having been abducted and tortured and then heading straight for that abysmal warehouse… Fei Long had never spared a thought to whether he might have forgotten some stupid piece of cloth anywhere along the way.

“I don’t have it here in Hong Kong, though”, Mikhail shrugged. “So, I can send it to you, when I’m in Macau in a few days… or…”, his voice trailed off. He pushed his hands into his jeans’ pockets and tossed some blonde locks out of his face with a turn of the head. “… or you come over on one of these days and we have a drink. Or… tea and cake, if you prefer that.”

Fei Long still stared at the Russian and realized that the man was getting uncomfortable because of that. He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, lifting his shoulders up to his ears at the same time. It made him look quite juvenile … and intimidated.

Tilting his head slightly to one side, Fei Long continued watching him, seeming very calm while in his mind the thoughts razed. He knew he could freak the living shit out of quite anybody with his ice-cold gaze but at this moment he wasn’t sure if it was _that_ cold. For he knew that rationality – which was supposed to always have precedency over his mind – was not at its best this morning. And probably hadn’t been for a while. Probably hadn’t been since he had seen real _love_ – between the debris of a crumbling building.

He looked away when the image returned into his mind, sending a burning into his eyes. He couldn’t think about _that._ Couldn’t think about what he _would never find, would never have_ , because that would squeeze his chest and throat until he could hardly breath and inevitably the nightmares would return. The nightmares Mikhail Arbatov had – for whatever reason – managed to scare away for one night.

Fei Long gasped for air when he looked back at the other. The Russian had long since placed the scarf back on the table and it lay there like the final proof that here was nothing else to do. Mikhail had done for what he had come. There was no other reason to stay.

And when he sighed, he looked both defeated and determined to leave.

“So uhm,.. you just let me know if I should send you the-“

Fei Long interrupted him: “I need to take shower.”

Turning around on the spot he walked through the living room towards the smaller corridor which connected his bedroom and bathroom to the other areas of the loft.

Mikhail however hadn’t moved. When Fei Long stopped at the door and looked back at him, the Russian still stood in the same place, but his hands ran over the front of his leather jacket as if he wanted to make sure that he wasn’t forgetting anything here before he left.

He didn’t get to take one step towards the exit though, before he was stopped by Fei Long’s question: “Are you coming?”


	2. Mikhail

“Are you coming?”

Now Fei Long was gone, disappearing somewhere along that other corridor, leaving the door open behind him. Mikhail looked around, as if in search of whomever the Chinese might have addressed his invitation towards. But there was no one, except for himself. Even the kid had left, banging the occasional door on his way out of the residential part of the IFC’s top floor.

Finding his throat somewhat sore, Mikhail swallowed hard against the dryness. It did not help very much.

He hadn’t come here for sex or anything like that, he swore before himself, and he didn’t want it to seem like that. Waking up for the first time at around 8am he had realized that Fei Long had left, sneaking out like a black cat in the night, but he had fallen asleep once more and hadn’t woken up until it was nearly 10 in the morning. Then he had ordered a breakfast from the room service, had showered, dressed and eaten, and hadn’t seen the crème-colored cashmere scarf lying on the likewise colored carpet near the exit until he had checked the room once more for anything that might have been forgotten. _He_ hadn’t forgotten anything, but Fei Long had, just like the first time they had been together.

 _That_ time Mikhail had nearly fallen asleep, still breathless from sex, when Fei Long had gotten up, had dressed and left.

“We’re finished here”, he had said, but had forgotten his flower necktie.

‘Just like Cinderella lost her shoe’, Mikhail had thought but the idea was not consoling. At _that_ time, it had been a deal, nothing else. If he had wanted to return the lost clothing to Fei Long, he would have had to do it like he had forgotten an expensive pencil or umbrella, or some trivial business papers. Never would he have been able to hand it over personally, because it had just been a transaction and he had been given a task, which he had to focus on.

Now however, he had just been around the corner of the IFC, he could walk up, tell some story of a late-night business get-together which weren’t at all unlikely in their world, demand to hand over the scarf personally – a request some guards and secretaries would probably fulfill because they knew who he was and as long as their master did not object to it – and wish the ‘midnight princess’ a good morning.

So far, the plan. But Fei Long hadn’t been there and instead he had found himself in the company of that kid he had seen with the Chinese a few times before. He knew that the boy’s name was Tao and had heard that he had been in some way involved in what had happened in Taiwan between Fei Long and his brother. But, though curiosity had nagged him, he hadn’t asked the kid, and had sticked to some idle, harmless chatting about tea and the sight of Victoria Harbor outside the window.

“God”, he whispered to himself. He was still standing here, in Fei Long’s living room. It was always the same! He would be cheeky and flirtatious all the time, but once Fei Long played along, he would freak out and loose his cool, making him freeze and stutter. He wasn’t sure if that was adorable or pathetic.

For a second he closed his eyes, then he followed the other man out of the room, down the corridor to the only other door opened and stepped inside the palace of white marble and gold hardware and decorations that was Fei Long’s private bathroom.

The Chinese beauty stood still next to the entrance, looking at the man entering without much of an expression on his face, then closed the door behind him. He was still fully dressed, including his trench coat and a very badly bound tie.

“Listen”, Mikhail began, clearing his throat to make his voice sound a bit stronger. “I really didn’t come to seduce you or something, I just…”

Fei Long stepped close to him, looking up to the Russian who was a fair bit taller. There was nothing but an inch of space between them now.

“Maybe _I_ want to seduce _you_ ”, the Chinese whispered. “Or I’m just too tired to shower alone and am afraid of drowning if no one keeps an eye on me.”

Mikhail took the excuse to look at the shower. It was placed into one of the corners of the room inside of three walls of marble and nothing but marble. Golden fittings and instruments were set into one side and the giant shower head hung above all from the ceiling. Yet there was no way to drown in there, as the water wouldn’t keep.

“You would have to flood the whole building before you drowned in there”, Mikhail trilled, keeping his gaze away from the man who was far too near. The closeness and Fei Long’s words were getting to him, making his blood pump, his heart burst and his knees tremble. He had never ever felt like that before towards anybody. Maybe it was puberty, he thought and felt a stupid grin form on his face.

With one finger Fei Long turned his head back, so he would look down onto him.

“Am I scaring you?”, he asked with a faint smile showing on his lips.

“A bit”, Mikhail answered without thinking. It was the truth, in a way.

“Good”, Fei Long continued, and with that he took off his trench coat, letting it slide to the floor, the jacket, tie and waistcoat where next, while Mikhail just watched him, surprised as his own hand shot out to touch the front of the Chinese’s shirt, where buttons were missing, and others hang loosely on their threats.

“You didn’t change clothes?”, he asked and Fei Long shook his head.  
“I had no time for that.” Pushing the Russian’s fingers away he let the shirt slip to the ground, then took off his shoes, socks and trousers, and finally his underwear.

Mikhail gasped, though he hadn’t even lowered his gaze. He stared at the inhumanly marvelous color of the other man’s eyes, admired the way his lashed would flutter just like the wings of a raven, and realized, when Fei Long had tossed his underpants away, that the beauty was blushing – just a tiny bit.

At _that_ he lost it, throwing himself against the other man, grasping him with one arm around the waist, locking the other in his hair at the back of his head and crushing his lips against the other’s. There was no resistance in Fei Long, not to the iron grip Mikhail had on him, not to being pushed backwards through the room and into the shower, not against the Russian’s tongue invading his mouth. All he did was claw his hands into Mikhail’s jacket, as if he was trying to rip it off his back.

Smashing against the wall inside the marble cubicle, Fei Long tried to say something, but Mikhail wouldn’t let him, sealing the other’s lips with his own. Now that he had pinned the smaller man between himself and the wall, he let go of his waist and his hand started to fumble the shower’s instruments blindly. A moment later cold water started gushing down on them, to which Fei Long gasped in shock as it hit his naked body, and Mikhail forced his tongue into his opened mouth even deeper.

A bit more fumbling and the water was getting warmer, not that the Russian cared. He was still fully dressed, no matter how hard Fei Long was trying to yank that jacket off his shoulders.

“Un..!”, the Chinese attempted to speak again, hindered by the hot tongue penetrating his mouth relentlessly. His grip and pulling on the jacket became stronger, so Mikhail grabbed his wrists and pried them loose, snatching them both with one hand and pushed them up against the smooth, cool wall above Fei Long’s head.

For that however he had to break the kiss and the Chinese finally found time to speak. “Undress!”, he demanded, but Mikhail just chuckled, while the blond hair cling to his skull and warm water was running down his face. Because of his position with his back pressed to the wall much less water had hit Fei Long, and his midnight hair was only shimmering from dampness.

“I’m soaked already anyway. Doesn’t really make a difference now”, Mikhail explained in Russian, leaning in again until his lips ghosted over the other’s.

Fei Long struggled momentarily against the fist that had captured his wrists but stopped the second Mikhail started to touch him with the other hand.

He reached for the Chinese’s side, just above the pelvic bone, and felt the muscles underneath the smoother-than-marble-skin contract in answer to the touch. Then he moved his fingers upwards, like they were a little man with five legs, only ever so lightly touching the man, feeling him shudder heavily underneath, nonetheless.

He licked Fei Long’s lips and the Chinese rushed forward with his head, snatching the other’s tongue with his mouth and sucking it in.

Mikhail chuckled to that, leaning in to squeeze Fei Long’s head between his own and the wall again, when his fingers found a nipple, pinching it hard.

Fei Long gasped into the Russian’s opened mouth and Mikhail could not keep from laughing, thus breaking the kiss.

“Don’t play with me!”, Fei Long voiced breathlessly, gleaming up at the other with shining, reddened eyes.

“Oh right”, Mikhail answered. “You wanted to take a shower!”

And with that he spun them both around, snatching the slimmer, smaller man from behind and leaning himself against the wall. By that now Fei Long was underneath the showerhead and withing seconds the water poured out of his jet-black hair, running down his body.

Mikhail held him tight with one arm around his waist and the other around his chest, squeezing one of his nipples, while he started to kiss the side of the man’s throat.

“Don’t leave marks that can be seen!”, Fei Long demanded in between gasps and attempts to not swallow any water. His eyes were closed now as the warm water came gushing down his face.

“I won’t”, Mikhail answered and bit down on his shoulder instead. Fei Long shrieked, but just like the night before, his hand shot up, grabbed the hair at the back of the Russian’s head and pulled him in even closer.

Just imagining that act could have brought Mikhail close to cumming but seeing and feeling the naked body writhe and tense in his arms, gasping for air, demanding more, could make him explode. He couldn’t wait any longer and obviously neither could the other.

Fei Long’s free hand had found its way to the front of the Russian’s soaking wet pants, unzipped them and slipped inside. Mikhail bit down again onto the white flesh, when a fist closed around his throbbing cock, pulling it out, and Fei Long shrieked again, swallowing some water and couching it out.

With another smooth movement, the taller man forced the other against the opposite marble wall, pushing his legs apart with his own, taking control of his member and aligning himself.

That was when Fei Long cried out, differently than before. His fingers seemed to claw at the wall where there was no support to find, his shoulders hunching together tensely, then he froze, leaning his forehead against the cool marble, waiting.

Seconds ticked away with the water rushing down over them indifferently. Then Mikhail leaned in, let go of his own manhood, and just pulled the Chinese man into his embrace.

“Are you hurting?”, he whispered and realized Fei Long was biting his lower lip fiercely when he nodded in answer.

It made Mikhail’s heart sink. If Fei Long was hurting _down there_ it was because of the last night. Yes, the Chinese beauty had demanded more – ‘More! Deeper! Harder!’ – and Mikhail had obliged happily. Still, it was _his_ doing.

“It’s ok”, Fei Long whispered, steading his breathing with some long gasps. “Go ahead. Don’t worry”. His eyes however were still closed, his fingers searching for support on that cold wall, his shoulders still hunched together.

Mikhail kissed his cheek, trailed his lips over the other’s cheekbone, found his earlobe and started to plant kisses around that.

“No”, he whispered, feeling Fei Long shudder heavily. “I won’t hurt you.”

“It’s ok”, the other promised again, his voice nearly inaudible beneath the noise of the water.

“No, it’s not.” And his kisses trailed down the Chinese’s neck and shoulder and spine, finding the small of his back. Then, he pulled him around, finding Fei Long staring down at him in apparent confusion. He looked much younger than, with his hair clinging to his body and face, water streaming off it like it was liquified midnight. With his eyes widened and red and blinking down at the other man.

That way Asami Ryuichi might have seen him in their past, of which Mikhail had never ever found out many details. The thought made his heart ache and the pushed it away, pulling Fei Long away from the wall, drawing the young man’s long legs around his waist and lifting him off the ground. He was so light, so slim, so weightless against his own body that felt heavy from his clothes, heavy from the water soaking them, heavy from the knowledge that he hurt Fei Long enough to still be aching.

He got down on his knees, carrying the Chinese with him, leaning forward, placing him onto the floor of the shower which was covered with less than half an inch of water. Sitting up again, Mikhail allowed the water falling down from the shower head at the ceiling to rain down onto the other man and Fei Long lifted one arm to shield his eyes, even if that meant that he could not see any more what was happening - or what the other man wanted to do to him.

The sight alone wanted to rip Mikhail’s heart out because he was sure that at other points in Fei Long’s past there had been men who had wanted to hurt him. Who hadn’t cared about his pain. And Fei Long seemed to accept that right now, laying his fate into the hands of that man who had dragged him down onto the floor, hovering above him like a predator above its prey.

But he wouldn’t hurt him. Instead, he pulled Fei Longs knees onto his shoulders and closed his lips around the beauty’s throbbing manhood.


	3. Fei Long

Fei Long’s toes curled the moment Mikhail’s mouth closed around his cock. He gasped for air, luckily still shielding his face with one arm from the water pouring down unto him heavily, or else he would have swallowed some sips. But he could not keep it there much longer. His eyes forced shut to keep the water out, his fingers snatched the blond hair on the Russians head clawing it probably a bit too fiercely, but Mikhail did not object.

Only his movements became stronger, the friction of his lips moving up and down Fei Long’s shaft intensifying, his tongue playing with the veins on it and tickling around the cock’s head.

One large hand squeezed down onto the Chinese’s body, keeping him fixed to the hard floor of the shower, so that he would not writhe away while his body tensed and trembled underneath the other man’s work.

Yet it didn’t take long, until spasms shook his whole being heavily. He had to gasp for air with a wide opened mouth, sputtering on sips of water, while one of his hands clung to the golden locks, guiding the man’s movements, and the other clawed into the Russian’s shoulder, certainly leaving bruises and scratch marks to last for a weak – if not even drawing blood with his slightly long fingernails.

He finally came with a desperate scream that echoed back and forth between the shiny walls of the shower, making the steam from the hot water disperse in fear momentarily.

For seconds he couldn’t think but feel – the burning of Mikhail’s mouth, the smoothness of his lips, his warm, large hands that were not holding him down by force now, but like they wanted to catch him – to save him.

A white noise filled his ears, dampening the din of the water, and only slowly died away. Only after that perception returned and Fei Long raised the arm above his eyes again, daring to look up. Mikhail had set up straight again, took one of Fei Longs legs, pushing it softly towards the Chinese’s chest and kissing the back side of it, knee to toes. Then he placed it on the ground next to himself gently, repeating the act with the other leg, before he leaned forward again, once again shielding the smaller man with his whole body from the downpour of the water.

Gently pushing Fei Long’s arm out of the way, he kissed his forehead, finding the others skin burning hot and reddened and his breath still ragged.

“I’ll get going now”, he whispered, his own words a hot ghost against Fei Long’s face.

The Chinese swallowed heavily, looking up at him with eyes dilated and reddened from arousal and the torment of the water. He still looked somewhat young and confused to Mikhail, which only convinced him more, that it was time to leave now.

If he stayed, he might make some stupid mistake, having his nature and instinct overcome his heart, and he needed to prevent that.

“You’re all wet”, Fei Long whispered so quietly that Mikhail had to read the words from his lips.

“I came here right from the hotel. I have my bag with me. The kid left it in the wardrobe next to the exit. I’ll change clothes and then I’m gone”, he answered, talking slowly, softly, with the water still streaming down all around him, running from his neck into his face and dripping from there unto the man beneath. But right now, they both didn’t care.

Instead, Mikhail kissed the Chinese’s forehead again softly, adding a few words in between now and then: “I’ll be in my mansion… in Macau… from Wednesday to Sunday… You could come over… for… tea and biscuits,… and for that necktie.”

Fei Long pouted. “Tea and cake, you said.”

Mikhail chuckled noiselessly. “Tea and cake, it _is_ then.”

And with that he ghosted one last kiss onto Fei Long’s, from which to break loose took more effort out of him than anything else had in his entire life. Then he got up and left, taking one towel and the hair dryer with him.

Fei Long however remained on the floor, raising his hands to cover his face, while he listened to the faint noises of the loft. It took a few minutes until he heard the main corridor’s door close heavily as if Mikhail had wanted to let him know, that now – _finally_ – he was alone. Then he let his hands slip to the ground, looking up towards the giant, golden shower head nearly hidden away in the heavy mist that had formed from the hot water. He had to struggle to not shield his eyes, to keep them open, but that way, if anybody would enter – though no one would dare – he could pretend that the irritation of his eyes was just due to the downpour. He could even pretend it before himself because the water swept away his tears. But he could not conceal the hard thumping of his heart which wasn’t caused by the climax anymore, or the breath catching in his throat and making it hard to breathe.

He didn’t even know why he was crying and maybe that was the worst.

Mikhail could have hurt him, could have taken him then and there. Fei Long had even tried to coax him into doing so, but nonetheless the man had declined, though he had been rock-hard and throbbing, when Fei Long had reached for his cock.

He wasn’t sure anymore why he had invited Mikhail to join him in the shower in the first place now. Maybe he had wanted to reward the man for bringing his scarf back? Or he had felt that little stupid pang of guilt once more about stealing himself from the room in silence. Or he had felt sorry for Mikhail. ‘Wind-swept’, Tao had described him and Fei Long hadn’t understood what the kid had meant by that.

But there in the living room with his hands deep in his pockets Mikhail had seemed somewhat at a loss - for words, for knowledge, for wisdom – and Fei Long had known how _that_ felt. He had felt like that for a very long time and since Baishe had rushed Asami and Akihito from that warehouse into hospital, it seemed to have only gotten worse.

His mind, it seemed, was still in that warehouse, stumbling through the shards and debris on the search for a way out - but that _way_ wasn’t a physical one. He could not climb out by use of his hands and feet. But anything else seemed disconnected and unresponding.

He forbade emotion to ever have a word in anything he did so harshly, that it now seemed to be frigthened into hiding, leaving him clueless as to what was going on within him. He just felt drained and empty and lost, while the water poured down onto him like it could wash him away.

But it couldn’t, even if Fei Long had wished for it. It only took his stupid tears away, so he could not hold onto them to find out why they fell.

He hadn’t cried for so long, that he wasn’t even sure he was doing it right.


	4. Asami

He had awoken some hours ago, but still felt dizzy and weak. Maybe this was the reason for the doctor not to bolt the moment Asami let go of his collar, or Fei Long had not only paid him very well after flying him in first-class from Belgium but had also made sure that the man knew what to expect once his patients awoke.

Straightening his jacket and thanking one of Asami’s men who had picked up the ballpoint pencil that had fallen out of the doctor’s chest pocket, he cleared his throat and continued to explain Akihito’s condition with a thick French accent and many scientific terms that completely slipped Asami’s attention. When the man finally left, the Japanese sank back onto the sleeping boy’s bed, accepting the coffee Kirishima brought him. It tasted awful after weeks in deep slumber but right now it was what he needed.

After opening his eyes, it had taken him a while to realize that he was indeed awake. He felt like in a dream, seeing faces hovering above him, speaking to him and then dissolving into nothingness. When he finally got a hold of his consciousness, he found himself alone in an unknown room. Nonetheless he was sure that just a moment ago there had been somebody there. Somebody had talked to him, had squeezes his hand. It was like he could still feel the warmth.  
He had gotten up, freeing himself from the cutlery the medical services had sticked into and attached to him, numb to whatever pain those rash actions caused. Then he got out of bed, stumbling towards the door, dressed in nothing but some odd hospital, papery pants, with limbs as woolly as his vision. Tumbling into the corridor he was caught by one of his men and within seconds surrounded by others.

With futile attempts they had tried to get him back into his room, back into bed, but he would not have it. Akihito was not in that room and he needed to see him.

He wasn’t even sure if reaching the boy’s bedside had taken one minute or two, yet it had clearly been much too long, and when he finally sank heavy down on the side of that bed for the first time, he had felt so dizzy, he just leaned over, pressing his face into the pillow next to Akihito’s face.

That he had passed out he only realized when he pushed himself up later, finding the room empty but for Kirishima, who stood just a step away, like he wanted to make sure that his master wouldn’t lose his balance and slip from the bed.

The doctor had come rushing in soon after, but not before Kirishima had tried to explain Akihito’s situation himself. He obviously had paid much attention to whatever the doctors had told him, hence giving a detailed report, but Asami had hardly been able to concentrate. Instead, he let his fingers wander through the boy’s hair that had been cut short and caressing his pale cheeks. He looked so much younger, so much thinner. If ever Asami had feared really that that light that had been gleaming in the kid’s eyes – that which boasted of life and joy and love – might have been diminished it was _now_.

And it had made him want to strike at the soft beep of the heart rate monitor which filled the room like sirens of doom. That moment the Belgian specialist had chosen to enter, followed by some of Asami’s men, berating the older of his two patients on his own condition first and asking him to return to his bed. Asami had shot up straight, had caught the man at his collar and had lifted him off the ground, when he wasn’t really sure if his own feet were connected to that anymore or if gravity was failing him.

Now swallowing the rest of the coffee in one large gulp which burned in his chest for a moment, Asami wiped his lips with the sleeve of a shirt Suoh had brought him.

Meanwhile Kirishima had filled him in with whatever else had happened in the last three weeks and Asami had found it easier to follow that then the medical explanations which at the end all came down to “he will be alright. There will be no aftereffects”.

Apparently Baishe had shown up at the warehouse, had taken care of the chopper and had rushed Akihito and him to the best hospital in all of Hong Kong. Fei Long had cleared the corridor, in which both their rooms were, off all other patients, had left Asami’s own men to guard them and had flown in one of the world’s most renowned specialists on brain injury. All the while and as far as Kirishima had heard both Fei Long and Mikhail Arbatov – each working for themselves – had taken out some smaller fractions of Chernobog, but it had seemed like these groups were only appendixes, left behind by the main organization.

On a sidenote his secretary finally added that after digging through the rubble of the collapsed building neither the body of that Russian guy, who had drawn Asami into his trap, had been found, nor that of Sudou Shu. And that Sudou – according to Mikhail Arbatov – had had help from that filth Sakazaki beforehand.

Thinking about the man, made Asami flex the muscles of his hands. Sudou daring to lay a finger onto Akihito’s skin had been irritating enough, and hadn’t the kid gotten shot and nearly died, Asami probably had found some other unpleasant means of punishing him. Means that in no way would have fulfilled any sexual fantasies Sudou might have had. Sadly, he had not done so, thinking that the threat was now over, but it sounded like Sakazaki had taken care of Sudou’s recuperation – with some help by Mikhail Arbatov. The latter however had not lasted long. Instead of vanishing in the Russian mobster’s protection from Asami’s sight, both men had instead taken up contact to Chernobog once more.

In the end it seemed like that damn brat Sudou had played them all very well, and still it was Sakazaki’s involvement in all of this, which antagonized Asami more. The man was the vilest kind of filth and the mere idea that he could get close to Akihito, that he could ever lay a finger onto him, made Asami want to throttle him in providence.

Pushing up from the bed he started to button the white shirt, pushed it into his trousers and fixed his hair in front of the mirror with the help of a bit of water and some hair gel one of his men could provide within a minute. Not having to even watch the others in the room to know that they listened closely, he ordered: “I want _all_ eyes on Akihito. 24/7. If he as much as twitches, I want to be informed. If anything – just _anything –_ happens, I want to know right away.”

Then he turned around letting Suoh help him into the jacket of his suit. His muscles still felt stiff and some of the wounds still ached whenever he moved.

“You get the car”, he ordered the quiet giant then. “Kirishima, you come as well.”

“Where to, Sir?”, his secretary asked, pushing his glass up the back of his nose.

“Baishe. I need to talk to Fei Long.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @LisuliaH for filling some blanks in my memory =D


	5. ...

The reception lobby that bore access to the express elevators serving the IFC’s upper floors was incredibly underwhelming. It looked like the entrance to some boring, cheap office building, especially compared to the luxury boutiques and high-couture shopping mall the public parts provided. Walls and floors where paneled with some greyish tiles, the large reception table was just as plain, and the only eye-catcher were two large vases which probably would have made some smaller town’s art department really happy.

None of that however was due to neglect or chance, but pure intention. When Asami entered with his both best men, the concierge got up from his chair immediately but without any sings of nervousness. Another second passed and the three Japanese found themselves surrounded by another four men, all with their weapons at the ready.

“Good day, Mr. Asami. Gentlemen”, the concierge said in a polite but earnest fashion. He was an elderly man with greying hair but the tight sit of his suit, which was likely the most expensive item in the whole lobby, showed that he was still in top form.

“We have not expected you. Is Master Liu awaiting you?”, he spoke on, after having bowed his head a bit to greet the three visitors.

“He doesn’t even know I’m out of bed. Give him a call. I need to speak to him”, Asami answered coldly. He had only once visited Baishe HQ and at that time – being in Fei Long’s company – he had not encountered anybody questioning him. Yet he of course had expected it.

The concierge asked a moment’s patience of them before walking off into another room, while all the guns where still aiming at the Japanese. Then he came back, signaling for the weapons to be lowered and the guards to withdraw.

“Please, go ahead”, the concierge then said, sitting himself down again.

Asami stepped into the elevator which sped the three of them up to the 90th floor and the vertical acceleration made his ears pop and his knees tremble. He was caught by Suoh’s strong arm, before he could tumble against the dark, shiny décor of the lift, closed his eyes and pressed the breath out throughout his nose thoroughly.

Beneath the shirt he could feel himself sweat, realized how fast his pulse suddenly thumped through his veins and needed a long moment to shook himself free from all of that. Leaving the hospital, he had taken some painkillers that weren’t supposed to dull his senses or thinking, but he felt tired and was hurting, nonetheless.

On the 90th floor they were picked up by a lady in a beautiful, black silken Cheongsam, who led them straight into Fei Long’s office, offering them drinks and expensive, rare tea, but all three of them sticked to coffee and none of them wanted to sit down. Asami remained standing because he feared he wouldn’t be able to get up again without the help of his men – it had been challenging enough to get inside the car and out again because he was stiff and aching – and he didn’t want his blood’s circulation start to lower by taking a moment’s rest. His men however would not sit if he didn’t.

They were left alone for a few moments, in which Suoh sipped on his coffee, his eyes never ever leaving his master, ready to jump to his protection anytime. Kirishima however frowned over his cup, regarding the art decorating the walls and seeming discontent with something. Then again worry had always shown easily on his face – at least for Asami – and this were indeed times of worry.

When there was finally a commotion outside all three man placed their mugs on the low table where they had been supposed to take a seat.

Fei Long stepped in the next second, pausing a moment in the opened door, then pushing it shut behind him slowly. Not for one second however did he take his eyes off Asami, looking him up and down with his thin eyebrows drawn close in concern.

“Are you supposed to be out of bed?”, he asked.

“You’re not my doctor. You’re only paying him”, Asami snapped back. He could feel his own eyebrows narrow, then drew a hand over his face and continued: “I need to speak with you.”

Fei Long advanced a few steps but kept a fair measure of distance between himself and the three Japanese. He wore some light blueish Cheongsam, on which his hair looked an even darker shade of pitch black – but that might also be because it was still somewhat damp as if he had taken a shower or bath not long ago.

“What about?”, the Chinese asked, raising one hand to bid the men sit down, but again not one of them did.

Asami regarded him a moment longer. Fei Long looked somewhat pale, even for his ivory skin, just like he had seen a ghost. At this moment he resembled the 21-year-old boy from back than much more than his nowadays self. Suddenly Asami felt a strange twitch in his right hand that he could not explain – as if somebody has grabbed that hand and squeezed it - and he made a fist to scare the sensation away.

If what he had been told in his few hours out of bed was true, then Fei Long had done his utmost to save and protect both Akihito and him, and not only for the moment but in the long run. The information had brought back a realization he had had weeks before but had not wanted to admit to himself: If he wanted to get rid of Chernobog, he needed Fei Long. The dragon of Baishe was to thank for his and Akihito’s survival, for without the triads showing up at the warehouse both of them would have died there. And there was a reason why Fei Long had not known anything about that Russian group prior meeting Asami in his Hong Kong base: On the one hand they had been active mostly in Russia, and only recently had got into busines pulling them into Asia. But beyond that they had steered clear of Baishe’s main businesses, giving Fei Long’s territory a wide berth for as long as they had been able to. If not one stupid henchman had tried to grab that kid Tao off the street for information, Fei Long might have remained in his golden tower, watching the pests eradicating each other. No…, Asami thought to himself, that wasn’t even the truth. If _he himself_ hadn’t taken to go to Hong Kong drawing Chernobog’s attention with him, then no one had even tried to look for Tao. The only reason Fei Long had been involved in all of this was Asami, and now he was his best chance to end all of this mess on a high note.

Swallowing that lump of pride which wanted to forbid him to ever utter such words, Asami cleared his throat: “I need your help.” And he repeated it right away to the astonished reactions of his men: “If I want to get rid of Chernobog, I can’t do it alone. I need your help.”

Fei Long stared at him, slowly blinking as if trying to decipher some hidden meaning.

“I will help you”, he finally answered, speaking slowing and quietly, his amethyst eyes locked into Asami’s golden.

“Sir”, Kirishima began, clearing his throat and folding his hands behind his back. “We can still draw in more men and equipment from Japan.” His master listened closely but didn’t break the eye contact with the Chinese man. “I’ll still need to give you a detailed update on the situation, so you can make your decision on full information. I’m sure Fei Long can wa-“

Further he didn’t get, for Fei Long, his eyes darting towards Kirishima, interrupted him coldly: “Why do you think we are on first name basis, Mr. Kirishima?”

“I am sorry?”, inclining his head to a bow.

“It’s Mr. Liu to you”, Asami interfered and added “wait outside” for both his men a moment later.

After they had left, Fei Long finally stepped closer, still watching Asami as if there as something suspicious about him.

“Are you sure you should be out of bed?”

The Japanese sighed tiredly. “I have slept long enough, and the world still keeps turning. You know how _that_ feels. I have no time to spare.”

Slowly the other man nodded, his slightly damp hair shimmering in the sunshine seeping in through the large windows.

“You should sit, at least. You look awful”, he continued after a moment, again drawing his eyebrows together.

“Don’t look that worried. I can take care of myself and so will my men.”

“Those two you just sent outside, leaving you alone with your enemy?”

Asami coughed a laugh. “You’re not my enemy.” But Fei Long was right in a way, he had to be looking awful if he looked anything like what he felt.

Now some low, thumping pain was growing in between his eyes and he was glad that he was facing away from the windows for light seemed to make it worse. He really wanted to sit down but couldn’t allow it. He’d probably never get up again without looking like a weakened, old man.

“How is Akihito?”, Fei Long asked, advancing another step until there was only one chair between them. He really looked pale. Both of them didn’t seem to be in their best form today.

“Still asleep. He’ll be fine, I’m being told.”

“So was I”, the Chinese retorted. “He was still asleep when I came to visit some hours ago.”

Asami jerked his head up at that involuntarily.

“You were there this morning?” he shot, placing a hand on the backrest of one of the heavy chairs next to him for support, before he could even start to feel dizzy. That dull pain was slowly getting stronger and moving his head so fast had not improved it at all. He needed some more medication though he was probably already overdosing on it.

“Did you talk to me?”, he heard himself ask and found that his voice sounded too loud and too hollow at the same time.

The Chinese blinked at him in discomfort, the concern on his face becoming more obvious by the moment. “Asami, _sit_ down!”

“Did you talk to me?”, the Japanese demanded to know, squeezing his eyes shut suddenly.

In the darkness many little fireworks exploded in front of his face, burning his lashes and skin, while some odd noise and tingling climbed up from his neck into his ears. He took a deep breath and another one, and finally could open his eyes again, though the other sensations hardly died down.

“I told you to get off your lazy ass and wake up”, Fei Long snapped at him, his eyes gleaming with annoyance and irritation. Still Asami started to walk towards the angered dragon of Baishe, forcing his hands to remain by his side and not to dare grab another backrest on his way.

Within a moment the tingling in his neck was growing again and with it that white noise which wanted to fill his ears.

“I was told you visited every day”, he stated, talking as slowly as he walked but now there hadn’t been that much space between them anymore in the first place. Once there was nothing, but one or two steps left, Fei Long backed away, and continued to with every little advance the Japanese did.

“I did.” Though he kept walking backwards no fear nor anything even faintly alike could be spotted in his eyes. He only looked irritated and uneasy. Then he reached the wall, without even flinching, and leaned against it, while Asami closed in for the last steps.

Finally, he stood in front of the smaller man, their eyes locked into each other, until Asami had to break the contact to wheeze the throbbing pain and noise in his head away once again. It hardly worked. So, he placed his hands against the wall for support, left and right from Fei Long’s head.

The Chinese’s only reaction was even more worry showing on his face. He looked so young right now, Asami realized once again, closing his eyes another time, then pushing his breath out through his nose to chase away the bright fireworks.

“Asami”, Fei Long spoke close by, his voice quiet and caring. “You need to sit down. _Please_.”

The Japanese however just shook his head before he opened his eyes again, ignoring the fireworks which he could now even see in broad daylight, then started to smile. It was _that_ which made the smaller man finally flinch.

“You woke me up. You saved us”, Asami whispered, leaning further forward, because gravity was seeping away now. He leaned heavy onto his hands which sought support on the wall and thereby rested his forehead against Fei Long’s. Ice cold felt the other man’s skin on his own.

“Thank you”, Asami hissed, then gravity tumbled away and pulled him off his feet.

He heard Fei Long shout his name, felt how the smaller man tried to catch him only to be knocked down with him, then the white fireworks faded away. Some black ink as dark as the cold universe, as shiny as jet-black hair poured into his mind and dragged him into oblivion.


	6. Fei Long

His goal was on the second floor so like usually Fei Long took the stairs. Though this was one of the most modern, most expensive residential buildings on Hong Kong Island it still harbored more than 50 apartments and he just didn’t like finding himself in an elevator with some everyman. Many of them seemed to make a habit out of nosing about or of attacking strangers with small talk. And even less he liked their dogs getting close to him. Whenever near, he unintentionally raised his hands to the height of his shoulders to keep them away from the animal, no matter how cute and well-behaved it was.

In front of the apartment, he knocked onto the door with some little rhythm, like it was a secret signal, which it really wasn’t. He just had knocked like that the first time he had stood in front of this door, had remembered it the second time and had kept it up since then. As a matter of fact, he had a key to that door – that way he had entered the building in the first place – he just didn’t want to use it if it wasn’t really necessary. Especially not when he came unannounced like now.

The rhythm however gave him away of course and when the door was opened shortly after, the man inside just walked back down the corridor into the living room with some quiet greeting and a dish towel dangling from one of his shoulders.

Fei Long took off his jacket and hung it to the wardrobe, then followed. The apartment was rather large for a flat in Hong Kong, yet it nearly had no walls. The main corridor along the inner wall connected two different parts of one large room with one giant wall of windows. Standing with your back to the exit you could walk into the bedroom area to the left or to the kitchen and living room to the right, while in front two doors lead to the bedroom and a cupboard which were set into the middle of the whole space and had no windows.

The furniture was pretty modern as well and had been chosen by a renowned interior designer. To Fei Long all the steel and glass and pure white surfaces felt kind of cold, kind of antiseptic, but his guess had been that the man for whom he had bought and equipped the apartment would like it – and he did.

Yoh was wearing jeans and a sleeveless, white shirt, a cigarette dangling from his lips like so often. He pulled the towel from his shoulder to dry a frying pan, which he then stored away, wiping his hands on the cloth and then hanging it neatly onto its rack.

“You want to eat something? Drink something?”, the man asked, putting out his cigarette. It smelled like he _had_ just cooked and eaten himself, but the kitchen was sparkling clean again.

“No, thank you. How is your head?”

Yoh shrugged. “I’ve told you ten times it’s fine.”

“Tell me another ten times”, Fei Long answered, sitting down on the black Cassina leather-couch.

Contrary to the other’s words, Yoh brought two Whisky glasses and a 18year old Blanton’s bourbon with him, placing them on the low glass table and serving, when he took a seat in an armchair opposite Fei Long. It was like that always: Yoh would ask, Fei Long would decline, Yoh would serve anyway and Fei Long would drink.

Then they would talk, about whatever was on their mind. Sometimes just about how their days had been. It felt strangely soothing and reassuring to Fei Long to sit here, often while the windows were getting dark and Hong Kong would slowly turn into that sea of a million lights, listening to Yoh. Then voicing his own thoughts – like he had never done before. In some way it was like a play at being a commoner, at being _normal_.

It helped that Yoh would never laugh about him, that he didn’t talk at all if he wasn’t sure that what he would speak needed to be said at all.

Also, it helped that Fei Long knew that he could trust him.

Declining to work for Baishe again, Yoh had nonetheless finally returned to Hong Kong in answer to Fei Long’s pleas. Occasionally he would do the odd job for him, but mostly he just was a friend with the rare pleasure of being able to enter the triad’s HQ whenever he liked.

It was rather cynical, Fei Long guessed, that the one man he could trust the most was the one who had betrayed him for years, but he knew that Yoh would die for him.

And for a while he had feared that he might have. After he had been pulled out of the car Chernobog had crashed off the street, there had been no sight and no word of Yoh. But there had also not been a moment to allow him to fear for the other or to voice his worry. So, he had – as he usually did with whatever emotion wanted to rule him – buried the thought somewhere deep inside. That place he imagined was somewhere in the farthest, darkest corner of his mind palace, where some tiny box of old wood with a large lock was hidden. Only he wondered how many emotions had died in there, forgotten and never reclaimed.

He swallowed another sip of Bourbon, then resumed telling Yoh about Asami. After the man had collapsed in his office, and into his arms, dragging him down to the floor because he was just too heavy, he had been taken straight back to the hospital. In the ambulance Fei Long had held his hand, like he had done in the morning, and the Japanese had opened his eyes a few times. The doctor’s verdict however was, that Asami had simply overtaxed himself – as well as overdosing on some painkillers. He was to stay in bed for another few days.

If there had been anything enjoyable in all of that, then it had been Fei Long berating Asami’s men about their incompetence. Not even that man Kirishima, whom Akihito had described as _‘Glasses Secretary’_ when calling Fei Long from that reclusive temple to ask for his help, had dared to look into his eyes, then.

Maybe usually that guy simply wanted to make a point of his appreciation and loyalty towards his boss, therefore only calling Asami _‘-sama’, while_ withholding the most basic acts of courtesy from anybody else. But antagonizing his master’s business partners could hardly be regarded as smart. He had been calling Fei Long by his first name each time they had met. And Fei Long on his part felt obliged to answer that kind of disrespect with hostility. Maybe Kirishima could talk like that to some lowly gangsters or to the Japanese kingpins of the underworld he was used to deal with, but not to the dragon of Baishe.

“Anything else?”, Yoh asked after his guest had been silent for several minutes.

Fei Long had leaned forward on the couch, propping his elbows onto his knees and letting his hair fall in front of his face. Now he brushed it aside and behind his ears, looking up.

“Mh?”, he made.

Yoh twisted his mouth for a moment. “You look worried.”

The room was slowly getting dark, as the sun had long since sunk and the sparkles of Hong Kong hardly penetrated through the windows. Still, no one of them had gotten up to switch on any of the designer lamps.

Despite the darkness however Yoh knew that something was amiss. He had maybe read it before from his guest’s eyes and had heard it from his voice.

Fei Long straightened up, looking down at his hands.

Yoh was not only the only person he could or had ever called a friend, he also knew him better than anybody. Fei Long didn’t know what he would do, if Yoh would decide to leave again. When sitting _here_ , in the dim light of the Moloch’s night, would be turned into a memory without any hope of repeating it ever again.

That was the third reason why he had not thought about what might have happened to Yoh at and after the car crash. The first had been that he simply hadn’t had the time nor the capacity to do so. The second had been that Yoh was a cat anyway. He had survived whatever danger had ever been tossed at him, had been tortured, shot at several times, had even betrayed Fei Long and had marched up to him handing the other the gun with which he wanted to be killed.

The third had been, that he felt incapable of handling the thought at all. After they had met in Taiwan, Yoh had declined coming back to Hong Kong and Fei Long had had to ask him to reconsider several times. When he had eventually changed his mind, his conditions had been clear and had meant that he would be able to leave at any minute, if only he wanted to. In that case however he might be swayed again. But if he died, …

Fei Long forced himself even now to not think of that.

“I can’t sleep very well. Maybe I am just tired”, he answered finally, aware that he could not really trick Yoh into believing his excuses.

“Tao told me. He called me this morning asking if I had seen you. He said you had left in the middle of the night, wearing a suit like you wanted to meet a business partner. I told him not to worry. But after he hung up, I called HQ to get a trace of where your cars went last night, and one of them got to the corner of Wyndham Street and D’Aquilar, then returned home only minutes later.”

Any other person speaking these words had probably sounded like boasting of his knowledge about the other, but Yoh sounded as always: quiet and factual. But a little frown was showing on his forehead even in the increasing darkness.

“So, are you worried about Asami, who’s just back in bed, in which he should have stayed? Are you worried because you told him you’d help him fight Chernobog, which you had already been planning to do anyway? Or are you worried about your choice to meet Mikhail Arbatov in a bar in Lan Kwai Fong?”

Fei Long breathed out loudly, giving the other man a dirty look. “Your memory is too good.”

The intel which had let him know where to find Mikhail last night had been acquired by Yoh. It was one of the few jobs he had done for him, because that one task – and anything that came with it – had been nothing Fei Long had wanted anybody in Baishe to ever know about.

He had gone to the InterContinental in Kowloon to bargain the Russian into getting rid of Chernobog, but had known that the man would probably not risk that much for the sole promise of money and hardware. One hundred Million Dollars he had offered Mikhail, anticipating his flirting and proposal. What he had not foreseen however was that Mikhail had not even wanted the money, just the night. In a way, Fei Long had pondered a few times, this made him a whore and the thought would have made him blush, if it didn’t mean that he was probably the most expensive whore in the whole world and all of history.

Also, he hadn’t done it for his own benefit, no matter what lies he had tried to tell Mikhail. He had done it for Asami and Akihito.

Of his reason to meet with Mikhail the first time, Yoh had known, had taken him there and had never even once voice any objection. And whatever had happened that night he would take the knowledge with him into the tomb, yet because of that he was able to talk to his former master the way he just did: not questioning his motives or actions, only asking about his soul.

Fei Long however didn’t feel like disclosing the contents of his heart, mostly because he just couldn’t. He hadn’t yet understood them, because what he had tried all day long had been to _‘make up his mind about them’_ and that was exactly the wrong way. His mind was that cold sovereign he wanted to control everything, but this task was beyond its reach.

“Are you _jealous_?”, he asked Yoh, avoiding the answer. It was a mean question, he knew, but somehow his defense, which was usually all down when he was here, had decided to stir.

In this exact room, sitting in these exact chairs, they had once talked about jealousy and hopes and _‘their’_ future, on the evening when Yoh had finally returned to Hong Kong. Actually, they had sat in silence for almost all the night and up until dawn, with only now and then either of them trying to share a few thoughts.

Having that talk had been necessary and inevitable, but it hadn’t really helped that the first thing they had done in the apartment, once Yoh had unpacked, was to fuck. Fei Long had thought that he had to reward Yoh for finally giving in to his request, only understanding later that Yoh had neither wanted nor expected that. All he had done had been to play along, not yet sure if he really could decline to what seemed to be demanded of him.

Getting back to their senses later both had regretted it, though admitting meekly that it had been a good fuck. They hadn’t even managed to get over to the bedroom area. Instead Yoh had pushed Fei Long backwards onto the kitchen table, had rested his legs onto one of his shoulders, pulling off the other’s pants and underwear, and had lubed his cock with the only thing that had been available. And that had been some rather expensive, imported olive oil.

But _‘friends with benefits’_ or _‘lovers’_ , both possibilities had been off the chart once they had started to talk, because none of that worked for Yoh.

He loved Fei Long, and therefore couldn’t be with him, for he needed his cravings to remain unfulfilled, wanted to be aching and searching as if he required to suffer in this life to cradle his hope for the afterlife. Furthermore, he didn’t think himself worthy of luck and happiness, and the thought of reaching out for them seemed to torture him.

Some cynical self-esteem which used to belittle them might be something they both had in common, but while Fei Long feared that his could be his undoing if he didn’t fight it constantly, Yoh seemed to revel in his.

And he was content with being close to that which he craved, like the proximity – while torturing him even more on the one hand – also heightened his every sense and gave him a mission and a purpose.

Fei Long bit his lower lip. He had heard Yoh’s simple answer, which had been “No”, but stared onto his fingers once again. Maybe he could copy Yoh in a way. If he was doomed to never find that kind of love, which Asami and Akihito had, for himself, then maybe he could find a place close to it, even once they had returned to Japan. Close to it in the sense of knowing, that that love of other’s had given him a purpose in this live, that he had helped to save it, to protect it. That way, perhaps, he could feel a bit of that warmth such a love was bound to radiate. Yes, maybe a tiny bit of that warmth would shine out into the coldness of his eternal frost.

“I cannot explain”, he finally admitted quietly. “I feel… like there are some pieces of the puzzle missing and that might be my own fault, because I tossed them far away and now I can’t find them.”

There was no light left in the room now except for that which any large city emitted, turning even the clearest sky overhead jet black, and Fei Long managed to look up again. He could make out Yoh’s eyes in the gloom, dark jewels against his skin.

“I need to think about it. And I need you to take me to Macau the day after tomorrow.”

“What are you doing in Macau?”, Yoh asked factually, no curiosity seeping into his voice.

“I will visit Mikhail Arbatov”, Fei Long answered, feeling how his lips wanted to form into a small smile and at last allowing it.

“So, blonde, blue-eyed Russian is your type now?”, Yoh asked and Fei Long threw one of the cushions into his face.


	7. Mikhail

He received Fei Long’s message the moment he entered his Macau mansion on Wednesday noon.

“I’ll be there at 6pm”, it said. Nothing else.

Mikhail froze on the spot, halfway through the giant entrance hall with its marble double staircase and wall decorations of Islamic ornaments.

Standing there for what felt half an eternity he thought about what to answer, torn between his urge to reply right away before Fei Long might reconsider and his fear to write anything stupid.

“A bit late for cake, perhaps, but I’ll be at your service”, he finally came up with, pressing the _‘send’_ with a stupid grin on his face, because that message was so wittily ambiguous. But that smile faded away after a second and he even googled the web for a way to stop the message before it reached its goal. There supposedly wasn’t any and his feeling that the text had been really stupid never diminished as Fei Long didn’t answer.

For the rest of the afternoon, he annoyed his staff with his restlessness. He checked on the Michelin-star-awarded Confectioner, whom he had flown in from Moscow yesterday and on a moment’s notice, several times each hour, and changed his outfits back and forth until his Portuguese valet – an elderly man of usually infinite patience and restraint sighed deeply.

When he was told that a car had pulled up to the gate of the large property on the outskirts of Macau, he had only halfheartedly decided in favor of the black, tight-fitted smoking and matching fly he wore. On the one hand it seemed only appropriate to welcome Fei Long in his best and most sophisticated appearance, but on the other hand it seemed much too formal – and far too complicated to take off later on as well. _That_ idea instantly put that stupid smile back onto his face, so he cleared his throat to get rid of it and walked down into the entrance hall.

One of his butlers opened the door for the dragon of Baishe, bowing deeply and maybe not even daring to take a closer look so that the beauty didn’t blind him for good.

Fei Long was clothed in a midnight blue jacket from Balmain, embroidered with golden threads and buttons, which probably cost more than the usual commoner’s whole wardrobe. But when the butler offered to take it, he took it off and handed it over. Underneath he wore sleek, silky pants so tight they hardly left any muscle of his legs to speculation, and a white linen shirt, which was unbuttoned down to his celiac plexus and through which his nipples could be seen – slightly darker than his skin.

It took all Mikhail’s effort not to rip that shirt off him instantly, and he gulped, shook himself, then invited Fei Long in.

For a few minutes he showed him around the lower floor of the mansion, with the other man marveling upon many of the old inlays of Islamic tiles, the collection of art and the restrained use of golden decoration.

“Beautiful”, was his verdict, with Mikhail shrugging.

“I wish I could claim to take any credit in it, but I don’t. I just inherited it and all I did to preserve it, is to keep it.”

Then they settled into the main living room which had the loveliest view of the large, lush garden, and especially onto its centerpiece that was a copy of the garden of Santa Barbara in Braga, including the ruins of the old monastery’s stone arches and the fountain with the statue of its patroness. Only that _this_ fountain was indeed spewing water which the real one probably hadn’t done in decades. Against the darkness which had already fallen outside a while ago helped the well-hidden, warm lightning all around the flower beds and bushes and even inside the water-basins.

Soon they were served cake and tea, and as quickly as they had appeared out of nowhere the staff had vanished again, leaving them alone.

On recommendation of the Confectioner Mikhail had chosen a Jin Jun Mei black tea, which he had been promised would pair excellently with the cake – and was happy to find that it was indeed to Fei Long’s liking. He himself had hardly any idea of tea, but it was one of the Chinese’s specialties and not pleasing him with his choice had been his greatest fear… or actually one of many great fears.

Another was that Fei Long would not like the cake. Deliberating on his options Mikhail had realized that he had absolutely no idea what the man liked or disliked in terms of food.

And indeed, for a moment the beauty considered the piece of patisserie with something akin to reluctance showing on his face.

It disappeared once he had tasted it.

“Mh”, he made quietly. “It’s very light. I hadn’t expected that from the way it looks”, he admitted and Mikhail couldn’t help but smile happily.

“Yes, it is. It is something very special. Ptichye moloko.”

“Bird’s milk?”, Fei Long translated looking at him with incredulous eyes. “Bird’s don’t give milk.”

“No, they don’t”, Mikhail explained, drawing his fork gently across the dark chocolate topping as if he wanted to create some pattern. “That’s why it has that name. The man who invented it wanted to make sure people understood that this was something quite otherworldly. _‘Something so exquisite and rare it probably didn’t even exist’_.”

He would not tell Fei Long that he had ordered the confectioner to prepare one of these cakes each day, never assuming that his guest would show up the very first evening of those mentioned days, nor that he had chosen the cake not only for its taste but also because of that idiom he just had quoted.

Instead, he now looked up, smiling across the table at the other man, placing another small bite of cake onto his fork. “Just like you”, he added, then caught the fork with his lips, sucking the cake from it with relish.

“Do you talk to your girls that way when you want to make them your girlfriend?”, Fei Long asked, shooting him a dark gaze back.

“No, I don’t. I never wanted any of them to be that. The only one I want to make my girlfriend is _you_ ”, he admitted, but Fei Long didn’t even smile to that.

He had been quite silent all the time and had often enough seemed like his mind was wandering off somewhere else. Also, there seemed to be some shadow on his eyes, that never lifted. It made Mikhail sigh to himself and shudder from the distance between them. It seemed like the very air above the table on which they sat opposite had turned into a void that wanted to suck out his heart.

They didn’t talk much more after that and when they had finished eating, Mikhail took to show Fei Long the upper floor of the mansion which was likewise beautiful. It was an excuse also to get the Chinese beauty into this bedroom, where he had placed the flowered necktie, Fei Long had forgotten on that first night, on one of his drawers.

Taking and unfolding it he advanced towards his guest who neither backed away nor reached out to accept back what was his. So, Mikhail stopped right in front of him, his lips so close he could without much movement plant a kiss onto the smaller man’s forehead.

Instead, he placed the silken cloth around his neck, then raised his chin with a single, gentle finger, until Fei Long would look up and into his eyes.

“Well now, did you come for the cake? Or for the necktie? Or for me?”, he asked him in Russian, his guts in turmoil because he was anxious of the answer and was fighting his need to touch and kiss and feel the other man at the same time. He was _so_ short of just flinging himself onto Fei Long.

But the other swallowed deeply, his eyes fixed onto the blue ones and full of seriousness.

“I came because I need your help”, he answered in English and in a way that sounded pretty factual.

Mikhail felt doubt seeping into him, but the blood burning him on the inside already didn’t want to take the hint that something was earnestly amiss.

“And how could I do _that_?”, he asked therefore, leaning closer until his lips were less than a thought away from touching Fei Long’s.

“Help me get rid of Chernobog”, the other answered, not withdrawing but not changing his businesslike tone.

“What?”, Mikhail asked, shrugging away and eyeing the other in bewilderment.

“Asami woke up, he asked my help in ending them. But I don’t want to drag him into this. I want him and Akihito to be save. I will need your help to do so”, Fei Long explained coolly and unshaken.

“Wait...”, the Russian heard himself say, but it might have been a request to halt for himself, as he felt how his mind was still trying to process what was going on. When he started to understand, his heartbeat seemed to stall, before reversing. It felt like each thumping was a poke of an ice pick in a glacier.

“Are you telling me you came here because of Asami?”, he stammered finally, his voice breathless, his throat tight and hoarse.

Fei Long drew a short breath which Mikhail could feel on his skin as he was still so close to him. “We had a deal!”

“What?”, the Russian croaked.

“We had an agreement. I fulfilled my part of the bargain, you didn-… you couldn’t. I need you to do that now”, Fei Long continued without any leniency. Only a small frown had shown on his face like he was discontent with the other’s reaction, while his eyes still held the gaze of the blue ones, nearly unblinking and without any sign of backing down even the tiniest bit.

A loud, dry laugh bellowed from Mikhail’s throat and at that moment he knew that he had lost it. “What the fuck!”, he shouted, and his voice echoed back from the far wood-paneled walls and ornamented ceiling. “Was that the whole deal? Did you come to me the other night to remind me of that bargain? And what of the day after? Did you try to give me a pity fuck or something? Did I look that miserable?”

Fei Long hardly reacted while the fury was vented onto him. He had just barely withdrawn his head, blinking once or twice, before his lips curled into some spiteful smile. Then he turned around on the spot, his hair flinging around his hand like whip, while Mikhail still tried to catch his breath – and his rage –, and marched out of the room.

“Where are you going?”, the Russian shouted after him, his fists trembling at his side, his throat constricting to the bitter taste of disappointment and hurt. Inside his chest a burning heat raged. Yes, he had had Fei Long in his arms, had seemed to have found some closeness to him. But now it seemed like all of that had been just an illusion. Just an act for the sake of Asami Ryuichi, and if that was the case, then he didn’t want any of it. It was not enough; it would never satisfy him – would never fill that hole that had been in his heart since the very first time he had met Fei Long. It would never give him warmth, would never stop him from bleeding out – and he needed _that_ or nothing. He wouldn’t take what was offered halfheartedly to him by the man he craved, when it was only given because of that man’s affection towards another.

That thought could make him fall to his knees, searching for purchase on the thick rug against his world shattering to bits just like his aching heart, but right now it only made him angry and the rest would follow later.

“Where are you going?”, he repeated, louder, harsher, stepping out into the corridor.

Fei Long was already striding down the giant staircase without any hesitation.

“I’m leaving”, he answered, barely raising his voice.

When Mikhail caught up, he had reached the entrance, had found the wardrobe and his jacket inside, and had pulled out his phone, ready to dial for his driver most likely. But the Russian grabbed his wrist hard enough to bruise. Fei Long struggled to rip it free, which tore the phone from his hand, and it shattered on the marble floor.

For a second he looked down at it but made no move to pick it up. Instead, he flung himself at the Russian the next moment, fists first, slamming them against the other’s chest. Mikhail stumbled backwards, all air smashed from his lungs momentarily. He needed a moment to recover, in which Fei Long had taken the jacket from its coat hanger, to put it on. Yet he never managed to.

Leaning forward in a quick move, Mikhail caught him around the waist with his arms, pushed him over his shoulder and picked him up. He turned around on the spot, marching down through the hall and the giant corridor attached to it, even though the Chinese’s hands were beating against his back with all the strength they could muster, once again forcing the air out of his lungs and seemingly short of wrecking his spine. Only one kick however Fei Long had managed, which might have broken one of Mikhail’s rips, before his captor snatched his legs to tightly against his chest, that the man could move them at all.

“Let go of me!”, Fei Long demanded, soon his fingernails digging deep enough into the other man’s skin to cause more scars on his back, where there were enough already.

“You asshole! Let go of me!”

“Oh, I am the asshole now?” Mikhail bellowed back, his fury only intensifying, his strides never tarrying once, until he had reached his goal, threw open the large wooden doors, walked straight on and flung himself into the colossal pool, with the Chinese still on his shoulder and completely unexpecting.


	8. ...

Not letting go, he pulled Fei Long underwater with all his weight, pinning him to the floor of the oversize pool filled with warm water. Right away the other man started to struggle in earnest, his kicks and punches only weakened by the liquid around.

Still Mikhail held him down a moment longer, until he was out of breath himself, than he pushed up upon his feet, lifting the other up to the surface with him.

Couching and splattering Fei Long fought for air, jerking at the hands which still seized him, the fingers now digging deep his upper arms.

“Let go!”, he growled wetly, his voice shaking with both anger and shock.

And Mikhail snorted, grabbed him around the neck with one hand and pushed him back underwater.

With arms and feet Fei Long fought against him, thrashing about like a wild animal.

Only when the first violent bubbles rose from his throat, did Mikhail pull him up again, the water gushing upwards around them and spilling over the boundaries of the pool. With his fist around the narrow throat of the other he pulled Fei Long close enough, that their lips nearly brushed against each other, but all he did was hiss at him with bared teeth: “Does Asami know that you’re whoring yourself out for his benefit?”

And again, he knocked the Chinese’s feet off the ground and forced him underwater, pulling him up a moment later to scream at him: “Does it boost your ego to play with those who have fallen for you?”

Once more he pushed him down, keeping him there less than two seconds, dragging him upwards to yell at his face: “Or is this to flatter Asami, by showing how everybody wants _you_ , while you will only ever have him?”

Seizing both sides of the collar of the linen shirt, which was now glued tightly around Fei Long’s chest, he started to shake the smaller man, so that the Chinese’s head flung backwards and forwards violently several times, until his soaking, jet black hair clung to his face. Then he suddenly let go of him and Fei Long just sunk beneath the water’s surface weightlessly.

Mikhail raised his hands, gripping his own head with them forcefully, hissing into his palms his hot, ragged breaths, and only letting them drop, when the other man had finally lifted himself out of the water.

He was aware that Fei Long had probably not fought him with all his strength only because he had nearly been drowned the first time he was pushed underwater, and found this thought verified a second later, when the man’s fist hit him against the cheek and eyebrow, knocking him off his feet.

“Bastard!”, was the last he heard, before his sight and hearing were gone, then his ears and nose filled with water. He came to a second later, pulling himself out of the water, throwing himself at the edge of the pool, still hissing and wheezing seriously against all the rage boiling inside him. It took a minute to finally clear his vision and for him realize where in the large basin he was, and that the large glass doors to the garden were opened wide with some wet footprints leading towards them.

He croaked a loud laugh though there wasn’t anybody around anymore to hear it.

“Yeah! Get lost!”, he tried to scream, but his cheekbone hurt too much, his throat was too constricted and there was this voice which suddenly filled him with bleakness, begging: “No, please don’t!”

Biting his lower lip, he let his head sink down onto the floor outside the pool, closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on nothing but the coolness of the marble tiles against his skin. Thick trickles of water came running down from his hair over his face, mixing with the tears of which he claimed that they were of rage only, but knew they weren’t. Right now, there was _so_ much pain in him! It tempted him to just let himself slip back into the water to wait until it had all washed away. Not even all the wounds which had decorated his whole back with scars had accumulated to that amount of anguish, and remembering how he had walked into Yuri’s trap, allowing him to beat him once again, all for the sake of Fei Long, now didn’t even help to spark his rage once more.

Burying his head underneath his arms, he held his breath, tensing all his muscles until his head felt like bursting from the pressure inside and until his skin burned from the blood pumping through even the faintest capillary.

He straightened up in a flash, releasing his breath in a single pant, then smashed his fists so forcefully onto the floor that he could as well have broken his bones. The pain soared though his body and momentarily enticed him once more to close his eyes and let himself fall into the water.

But he didn’t follow the urge. Instead, he climbed out of the water, pulling off the fly and smoking’s jacket, then he wrapped himself in a bathrobe and dried his hair on a towel.

“Fei Long?”, he called out, his voice echoing from the glass ceiling of the pool room, while chilly air pushed in through the opened doors from the garden. There was no answer.

For a moment he wanted to just leave it at that. To not care.

 _‘Don’t!’_ , he told himself. There was nothing to be done. Nothing to be said anymore. If all of this had been for that one deal, he would honor it, but that didn’t mean that he needed to work with Fei Long face to face again. And if all that had happened between them _after_ that one, first night in the Kowloon InterContinental had been for the sake of Asami Ryuichi, then he would rather forget about all of it. And he did not want any more of it. He neither wanted to be rewarded for any deeds to save the man and his fuck-toy, nor did he want to be used as a stand-in to fill an unrequited craving.

“Don’t”, he said out loud, closing his eyes once more, then taking a large towel from the shelves and marching outside.

Though it never got really cold in Macau – compared to his home in Russia especially - the 14°C felt instantly chilly on his damp skull and any part that was not wrapped in the bathrobe but only covered by his drenched, sticky clothes.

He walked along the beautifully lit garden paths for a while, the lush greenery now turned to black and the darkness hindering his view.

There was no way out off the estate on this side of the house if Fei Long hadn’t climbed the walls, yet there also was no reason to not take into account that he might as well have just walked around the mansion and exited through the gate at the front.

Still Mikhail kept searching, forcing himself to stroll instead of run, restraining his voice to sound nothing but mildly interested.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he reached the garden of St. Barbara.

Fei Long stood in front of the fountain, his back turned towards Mikhail, his arms slung around himself, grabbing his fingers deep into the dripping wet sleeves of his shirt. He stared up to the statue of the holy lady which was illuminated in golden light and was in far better shape than its original counterpart in the Portuguese town of Braga. And the martyr looked down upon him with gentle eyes just like a mother should upon her child.

Coming closer slowly and stopping only steps away Mikhail raised one hand offering the thick, soft towel.

He licked his lips, wetting them, before he managed to speak quietly: “You need to get inside. It’s too cold.”

And sure, Fei Long was already shivering, his fingers even drilling deeper into the flesh of his upper arms now, as if he wanted to warm himself that way.

 _‘…or to comfort himself that way…’_ , Mikhail realized a moment later, which made him clench his jaw.

“Fei Long”, he whispered, his voice little more than a tremble, when the other inclined his head, pulling his shoulders up, hunching his back as to hug himself even more tightly, while the spasms that shook his body only got stronger.

“I’m sorry”, Fei Long suddenly muttered, the words trailing out with his breath. He gasped for air a moment later, straightening up a little.

“I’ve been having bad dreams. I keep seeing them… lying in that building… ready to die as long as they are together. I’m not haunted by the thought of them losing their lives, … but by what they have… That kind of love… love… that I will never have.”

He stopped momentarily when his voice became so shakily it was nearly inaudible.

“That kind of love I’ll never have. But I can protect it. I can keep them save. That I can do, but not alone. I need help. To protect them…, I need help.”

And with that he turned around, still holding onto himself tightly, not fighting the chilly air seeping through his wet clothes but the turmoil the tears streaming down his cheeks caused in his body.

His teeth chattered when he looked up at the other, and Mikhail was not sure if _that_ now might probably be because of the cold, or because of exhaustion physically or … rather mentally. For Fei Long right now looked just like a lost boy, his eyes wide and overflowing with tears too plenty to even try wiping away. He looked like the unwanted child he had once been, the supposed orphan misplaced with another family, the last remnant of a home long forlorn.

A simple truth dawned on Mikhail that moment, hitting him like a giant hammer had smashed into him and had shattered him to a million pieces of glass: Fei Long did not know what Mikhail felt for him, because he didn’t understand. He did not understand love. He knew longing and possessiveness and lust and desire, but not love. He didn’t even get it, when it tried to nestle all around him.

“You’re stupid”, Mikhail heard himself say, nearly swallowing his tongue to clear his throat to repeat it louder, stronger: “You’re stupid!”

Fei Long just stared up at him, his lips trembling like his whole body, shimmering tears streaming down his cheeks just like the water still running from his hair. Unfolding the big towel and holding it open, Mikhail stepped up, pausing a moment as if he wanted to let a wild, scared animal gather that he meant no harm, then he wrapped the cloth around the smaller man, pulling him into his embrace, rubbing him gently.

Leaning his cheek against the other’s forehead, he tried to warm him, whispering slowly: “If this is for you, I _will_ help you. I _will_ do it for you. But not for Asami Ryuichi. If you need my help for your own benefit, to save yourself, I will do it. Not for him. Only for you.”

A moment passed in which they both didn’t move, before he felt Fei Long nod against his cheek, slightly but distinctly enough.

Then he let go of the other and in the next moment picked him off the ground, lifting him in his arms to carry him back inside. Fei Long’s head fell against his chest, his forehead leaning against the side of his throat and one of his hands came up to cling itself to the front of Mikhail’s silken shirt.


	9. Fei Long

He had his eyes closed while Mikhail carried him back into the building, through the long, silent corridors in which only his footsteps echoed, and up the staircase. The bathrobe, though slightly damp from his own hair, felt smooth at his cheek and through it and beneath the hand with which he had caught the front of the other’s shirt he could hear and feel the man’s heartbeat.

Only when they had reached the bedroom did Mikhail set him back to the ground, taking ahold of the thick towel and rubbing him lightly with it as if he was frail and fragile – and maybe he was.

Fei Long just stood there, staring ahead, uncertain of what to do and what to say, while strong hands lifted the towel to his hair to dry it a bit.

Then Mikhail stopped, allowing the towel to fall down onto the other’s shoulders, and Fei Long looked up at him.

There was nothing left of the anger and poison that had been in his eyes before, there was no vile smile anymore that had spat those words at him. Words that had probably hurt so much because there might have been some truth in them. Fei Long just didn’t know right now.

He loved Asami in a way, but not like _that_. Not anymore. He had started to let go long ago, had found a way to free his heart from that toxic spell which his imagination and hopes and search for safety and love had placed upon him seven years ago. But he wanted to protect the man, for in a way they were bound together, like some invisible, unbreakable thread linked them to each other.

And he wanted, no, _needed to_ save both of them, him and Akihito. He needed to, in order to maybe make right a little bit of the injustice he had done. He needed to, in order to maybe just ever so slightly graze that sanctity of light a love like theirs would emit.

Suddenly Mikhail looked away. His blue eyes seemed dark, overshadowed by thought and tiredness. They were red, too, and Fei Long wondered for a second if that was due to the water of the swimming pool or if the man had cried.

He didn’t get to ask, because Mikhail obviously came to some agreement with himself. He bit his lower lip for moment, then nodded and finally looked back at Fei Long with a deep sigh.

“I need you to listen”, he spoke softly and slowly. “I do not need you to answer. I don’t even _want_ you to answer. All I need is for you to hear this and to understand.”

Fei Long could feel himself frown, looking up at the other, and was startled when he realized that those blue eyes now indeed seemed like they were on the verge of crying.

Mikhail seized his head with both hands, ever so gently, but still making sure that he would not turn away. Then he bit his lip again, his throat contracting several times as if he fought with the words.

“I love you”, he whispered.

Time and space seemed to halt, and the man bit his lip once more, cleared his throat, and finally spoke again.

“I love you! I do not get why you’d think that you could never find love. And I am aware that _my_ love might not be what you are looking for. But I _need_ you to understand that you are being loved. I need you to understand that you are wrong and stupid if you think that you could never find love, because I will swear on my life to you that you can.”

Fei Long didn’t know how to move. For an eternity the world seemed to consist of nothing but the blue and grey pattern of the other’s eyes, of the black pupil slowly dilating, of the one, two tears slowly flourishing on the long, golden lashes before spilling down his cheeks.

“You don’t know me, Mikhail”, he heard himself whisper, perhaps after millennia had passed, without being aware that his lips had moved. It might as well have been his heart voicing that, doubtful and contradicting as always.

“I know enough”, the Russian answered. “And I know myself. I have never in my life felt for anybody as I feel for you. The moment I met you, the moment you left that room I thought I would suffocate, like you had taken all air out of there with you. All breath out of myself. You carved a hole into my heart that has your shape.”

For a moment Mikhail seemed to shudder, his hands trembling at the sides of Fei Long’s face and the Chinese caught those hands with his own as if he had to keep the other from falling.

“And I can’t promise that this – you and I - would ever work out. I know it is unwise and dangerous and stupid. I’ve been trying to convince myself of all of that so often, so fiercely. But I still can’t get you out of my mind. You make me feel insecure and stupid and happy at the same time. And I…”, he broke up, learning forward pulling Fei Long closer gently by the neck to lean his forehead against the other’s. “…and I will do anything you ask of me, but not for the sake of Asami Ryuichi. Because he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve _you_.”

A heavy shiver soared through Fei Long’s body when one of Mikhail’s tears fell onto his cheek. It seemed to burn him. He trembled to the touch of the strong hands still holding him gingerly, while he searched for words, but he did not know what to say.

He didn’t love Mikhail. He didn’t, he thought, but then he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure what love was. He wasn’t sure what it felt like to really, truly love.

Too many people had pretended, that they loved him, and had lied. Too many had told him that he was beautiful, only to hurt him. Then he had laden all his longing onto one man, creating some otherworldly idol out of him, with which the real man had never been able to keep up, and had been betrayed once again. It had left him bruised and broken inside far more than any treatment of Yan could ever have, because for the first time in his life he had hoped and believed in somebody.

His eyelids shut on him and he forced them open, uncertain for how long they had been closed.

Mikhail lifted his head from his forehead, looking down onto him from inches away. The tears were gone, his eyes still reddened, but now he looked worried more than anything.

“Are you alright?” he asked meekly, while a frown formed in his brows.

“I feel dizzy”, Fei Long answered, leaning his head into one of those strong hands.

With a jolt the Russian straightened up.

“Yes… you’re still all wet. We should get you into something warm.”

Fei Long nodded ever so slightly but it made the room swim – and for once not in tears brimming in his eyes.

“You didn’t bring a bag or something?”

“No”, was the answer and it hurt him to stammer it because it underlined the truth he had told before. He had come to sway Mikhail into helping him, nothing more. At least, that he had told himself. There was _however_ a bag in the trunk of the car with which Yoh had taken him to Macau, and that car was parked in the lot of some hotel not too far off – as long as his phone still worked.

‘Blonde, blue-eyed Russian is your type now?’, Yoh had asked him and Fei Long had denied it. And still he had packed that bag and had brought it with him. Now he wasn’t sure if at that time he had known what he was doing.

He wasn’t sure of anything anymore but that he was feeling weaker by the moment, the room’s gold ornaments swimming together and swiveling around each other, while his head felt too light. Like a balloon it could just drift away and bob along the ceiling.

“I’ll just take one of your guestrooms and rest there”, he offered, when Mikhail cradled his cheek with the hand into which he nestled his head.

“No”, the taller man sighed. “You sleep _here_. It’s the coziest room. I’ll get one of the guestrooms. But you need to get out of those soaking clothes.”

The last words he spoke almost inaudible, seemingly flinching away from them, like he knew they needed to be uttered but feared his own doom by admitting them.

Fei Long took his hands into his own and Mikhail straightened up a bit more, tying to pull away. But the other didn’t let him. Instead, he dragged those hands down in front of his chest, all the way to the first button of that linen shirt, which still clung tightly to his skin, and there he placed his fingers.

With a sharp breath Mikhail froze, but didn’t Fei Long either. They stared into each other’s eyes and finally the taller man started to undo those tiny buttons. He pulled the shirt down along Fei Long’s arms, then needed another hand guiding and encouraging his own to return to his work. He opened the front of the black silk pants, then crouched down to take off the other’s shoes and socks by lifting one of his knees after the other with a gentle pull, and finally stripped the trousers and underwear off those unbelievably long legs.

Then he got up again, his breath catching in his throat again from that marvelous sight. If only Fei Long didn’t look so broken and lost.

Hands a bit smaller than his own were raised towards the front of his own shirt now, but Mikhail stopped them.

“Don’t”, he whispered. “You just get into bed and I’ll-“

The Chinese beauty interrupted, his voice frail and trembling: “Could you just keep me warm, for a bit?”

Even when he tried to shove them away with more vigor, the fingers at the top button of his shirt didn’t budge. Long lashed flattered at him, when Fei Long blinked but not for any other reason did he ever stop looking up into the other’s eyes, and finally Mikhail let go of his hands.

They undid the buttons and pulled down the shirt in one go with the heavy bathrobe, then opened Mikhail’s belt and the smoking’s trousers, while the Russian pushed off his shoes by himself.

For getting rid of the remaining clothes Fei Long wanted to kneel down, but when he leaned forward, he swayed and Mikhail caught him, straightening him up, balancing him with his hands until he was assured enough that he would not fall. He took his socks, trousers and underwear off himself, then stood naked in front of the other man.

Fei Long shrugged ever so lightly, anew hugging himself with his own arms now, so Mikhail picked him up again and placed him onto the giant bed as if he was made of the frailest crystal.

He went to switch off the lights and draw close the heavy velvet curtains, then returned to the bed, pulling the warm blanket over both of them.

“Just tell me, when I should leave”, he whispered into the darkness of the room, and Fei Long, who hadn’t moved an inch since he had been laid here, flinched, nonetheless. It was a strange sensation. He felt like he was weightless. Like the bed had dissolved when the lights had gone. Instead, he let his fingers wander underneath the blanket, feeling its soft, fine pattern, until he found naked skin.

He wasn’t sure where his hand had reached, could only guess that it was Mikhail’s chest or shoulder, when the other slightly pulled away.

Silence crept in between them and it suddenly felt cold even underneath the thick blanket. Drawing his arms around himself, he shivered once again.

“Are you alright?”, Mikhail whispered, his voice barely audible but full of the desperate plead to hear a _‘yes’_.

“Can you just hold me until I’m fallen asleep?”, Fei Long asked.

For another moment the coldness grew, then finally Mikhail moved. His hand reached out to find the other’s shoulder, and Fei Long just rolled over to the side and into the other’s arms, nestling his own hands against the broad chest.


	10. ...

When he awoke it took him a while to realize where he was, still no panic or discomfort made him try to find an answer to that question sooner. He hardly stirred and didn’t open his eyes, while becoming aware of the warmth embracing him, of his hands still cradling up to the flesh of another person, feeling the other’s heart slowly beating against his fingers. There never grew any need inside him to pull away, as it usually would have.

For a long while, all intent he found in himself, was to stay right there, just like that, while his mind drifted back and forth between resting and waking, and no bad dream ever dared to seep in.

When he finally opened his eyes, he still hadn’t moved an inch, was still wrapped in those arms in which he had fallen asleep quickly hours ago.

It made him wonder – and that was the first conscious thought he had – if what he had told Mikhail days before had been more truthful than he had anticipated. In that bar the man had asked why Fei Long couldn’t sleep, and he had retorted that it might be, because he slept alone. On the one hand it had been an excuse to not divulge his feelings, on the other an attempt to turn the conversation towards seducing the other.

But maybe there had been a certain degree of truth to it, because he hadn’t had any bad dream _that_ night. _‘He had been too exhausted’_ , he had told himself, but maybe that had been a misunderstanding – or more likely a lie. This was the second time he had slept next to Mikhail and there had been no bad dreams this night as well, no images haunting him, no despair tormenting him.

Stirring ever so slightly he moved his head to look at the other’s face. A bruise now showed on Mikhail’s cheek and eyebrow, where Fei Long had hit him in the pool. Of course, it had served him right. He had earned that swing at his visage justly. Nevertheless, Fei Long now couldn’t help but feel sorry for it.

In his sleep Mikhail looked just like an angel.

 _‘Oh’_ , the Chinese admitted to himself, _‘but you have thought that about him before, while you knew that he was indeed the devil!’_

Though maybe he wasn’t. Not really. Not in private. And actually, had he ever done anything to truly harm Fei Long on purpose?

Yes, he had played both him and Asami for good, and he had messed up Baishe’s businesses more than once. But given his power and influence, if he had wanted to hurt Fei Long for real, he could have, yet never did. Even when he had first raised up Yan before turning to dismantle him, Mikhail had claimed that with that he had wanted to help the other in getting rid of that greatest threat to his position and life, which was personified in the trueborn heir to the Liu family.

Back then it had been Fei Long’s verdict that all the man wanted was attention. He was a troll, happy with interfering, joyously throwing sticks between other people’s legs. Also, he had taken to seduce the Chinese wherever possible, never being shy about some stupid attempt at flirting. Because he lusted for the other, Fei Long had always assumed.

However, if there had been any sincerity in those words whispered last night, then that hadn’t been the case. If he could just trust him… if he could just believe that Mikhail had spoken the truth.

But that was so hard for Fei Long.

Then again, Mikhail had been one of only two men in his whole life with whom he had been in bed out of his free will, without being forced or coaxed by violence or circumstance.

Yoh had been the first; The blonde man, wrapping him in his arms right now, the second. Yes, of course, Mikhail had brought up that bargain of Fei Long spending the night with him to compensate him for venturing into the danger of fighting Chernobog. But Fei Long could have declined.

The only power forcing his hand than had been his own strength taking that step because he had thought it worth the benefit.

But apart from what had happened in the pool yesterday, Mikhail had never hurt him for real. And _that_ , Fei Long found himself consciously devising an excuse, had been because he had lost it to anger and… maybe despair. In the shower of his loft on the IFC’s 90th floor however, Mikhail could have hurt him. He could have taken him then, though Fei Long was aching. He had even asked the man to do it – had kind of begged him to – but Mikhail had restrained himself from doing so.

Instead, he had pleased the other, caressing and kissing him afterwards, before he left. And Fei Long had cried tears which had seemed to come out of nowhere and which he hadn’t understood. But he knew now why they had fallen: because he wasn’t used to it being that way. The first who had not fulfilled his own lust with him, while completely disregarding the resistance or unwillingness of the other, had been Asami, and that had confused him tremendously.

He just wasn’t used to anybody treating him gently in that regard or to honor his needs. Mikhail however had, both in the hotel days ago and on the following morning. And tonight, when Fei Long had stood naked and defenseless before him once more asking for nothing but to be hold tightly until fallen asleep.

From that moment on it seemed like Mikhail had not moved once, the bruise a sin on his cheek, his heart beating slowly, his pupils now and then moving slightly beneath his eyelids.

Morning light already streamed in underneath the heavy curtains, yet Fei Long couldn’t bring himself to shift, watching the other intently, thinking, while Mikhail slept on.

They had to be a strange pair, the both of them. One with hair as black as obsidian and a skin a bit fairer than it was usual to his ethnicity, because he spent so many days hiding in his tower. The other with golden curls and bronzed skin. It felt so warm against his own, Fei Long thought. He had always assumed that his own skin was cold like his heart felt so often.

With a low sigh Mikhail finally stirred, the muscles of his arms flexing around the other, probably unconsciously pulling him closer for a moment, and the man caught in that embrace did not feel any need to fight it.

Then those blue eyes opened, blinking at him several times, as if they weren’t sure if what they saw was the truth. When their owner had finally understood he shrugged slightly, then smiled in what might be the warmest and still most worried smile in the world.

Seeing it oddly hurt Fei Long, so he smiled back, and the blue eyes lighted up right away.

“Good morning”, Mikhail whispered in Russian.

“Good morning”, the Chinese retorted.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes. You?”

Mikhail looked about as much as he could without moving his head too much. “There was no way I wouldn’t have with you in my arms”, he answered and for once it didn’t feel cheesy or offensively seductive to Fei Long.

“Listen”, he heard himself say after a moment of just staring back into those eyes, drinking in that smile. He had to swallow once to find his voice. “I will not promise you anything. I _cannot_ promise you anything. Because right now, I don’t understand myself very well. All I can tell you, is what I understand at this moment. And that is that I feel happy _here_ right now. I don’t want to get up, I don’t want to leave. And this is new to me.”

The blonde man listened to him unmoving, the smile slowly vanishing but no sadness showing on his face.

“I just need you to be honest with me”, he answered after deliberating for a moment.

Fei Long nodded, pressing his fingertips onto the other’s chest, feeling his warmth, feeling his heartbeat.

They lay like that for a long while, until Mikhail stirred again like he was uncomfortable.

“But I also might need you to move a bit”, he admitted and Fei Long felt the muscles in the man’s arm, onto which his head was bedded, contract.

He raised his head just a tiny bit, to take the weight off it, and Mikhail sighed jokingly. He angled his elbow, lifting his hand to make fists with it.

“Better”, he gasped. “That part is still asleep I think.”

“I know a way to help with that”, Fei Long declared factually.

“Really?”, the other asked, doubt showing clearly on his face.

“Yes”, the Chinese promised, then he rolled from his side onto stomach and bit Mikhail’s biceps.


	11. ...

“Argh!”, Mikhail complained. “You really are some cat!”

He tried to roll himself unto the other, but Fei Long wouldn’t have it. Instead, he pushed the man down, leaning his elbows onto his broad chest, his long black hair falling down onto the Russian’s skin.

From there he just looked at him, drinking in the infinite blue of his eyes, those long lashes which matched his own, those golden curls messy around his head, the hardly visible little moles and freckles here and there, and that sacrilegious bruise on his cheek. He let one finger trail over it very softly, but Mikhail flinched, nonetheless.

“I’m sorry”, Fei Long whispered, but the other just shook his head.

“No, you did good.”

That finger than wandered along the man’s eyebrow, over his forehead and down his nose, then found his lips tracing them slowly.

“You don’t need… to…”, Mikhail stammered, breaking up midsentence.

“I want to”, Fei Long breathed, before leaning in until his lips barely touched the other’s. He didn’t close his eyes, and neither did Mikhail, while the Chinese started to peck little kisses onto his mouth, one as frail as the other.

Long he continued with that until at some point he pushed himself up unto his elbows again, looking down onto the other, studying his angelic face once more. One of Mikhail’s hands was raised to his cheek, caressing it warmly and brushing his hair.

“You are so beautiful”, he purred up at the other. The next moment Fei Long leaned down, placing his lips onto Mikhail’s and pushing his tongue trough.

And Mikhail allowed him in, greeting him with his own hot tongue, while wrapping him in his arms and pulling him tight. That way he could probably break his spine, Fei Long thought, but didn’t feel like struggling. His fingers dug into the men’s shoulders, his hair danced on his face and neck and chest.

Rolling himself more onto the other, Fei Long brought one of his legs between the Russian’s, pushing them apart, rubbing his thigh against the manhood pulsing already.

Mikhail gasped at that and the Chinese laughed, pushing his tongue deep inside until both of them needed to pause for air.

“You are the devil”, Mikhail panted, finding another smile on the other’s face.

“What now? Am I a cat? Or the devil?”

“Maybe you’re a cat from hell”, the Russian suggested, letting his hands slide down the sides of Fei Long.

“Actually, I am a dragon”, the beauty declared proudly, catching one of Mikhail’s hands and raising it to his mouth, while his hips still moved, grinding both their crotches into each other.

Quiet moans slipped into both their breathing but the loudest yet was gasped from the Russian, when Fei Long pushed his fingers deep into his mouth, sucking them in, licking them with his tongue.

“God!”, the blonde man exclaimed, first in Russian, then in English, closing his eyes, tensing beneath the other. Soon enough Fei Long’s lips were back on his own, their kiss only broken momentarily when either of them needed to catch a breath, and those wet fingers of his were guided with a sure hand down to the perfectly curved ass of the Chinese.

Gently, cautiously, Mikhail pushed one digit into the tight, hot opening, fondling it ever so lightly, moving slowly at first and only gradually shoving it further in, only then did he bring in the second and finally the third. At some point Fei Long had broken the kiss. He had pulled himself completely onto the other man, their chests heaving against each other, their cocks pressed against another. He had grabbed Mikhail’s head with both hands, leaning his forehead onto the others. His eyes were closed, his lips open, panting for breath that stroked the other’s face, while the man below just looked up at him, watching him, admiring him.

“Stop”, he gasped finally, snatching Mikhail’s arm with one of his hands and pushing it away so forcefully that the fingers were wrenched out of his body.

For a second Mikhail thought he had done something wrong, but then Fei Long just slid off him, lying flat on his stomach, trying to make the other man roll unto him by dragging his arms.

“What’re you doing?”, Mikhail whispered against his temple, planting a hint of a kiss there. He had followed the invitation halfway but halted there.

“You like it like this?”, turning his head towards him, nearly drowning in the ocean of his black hair, Fei Long asked, his voice still wrecked between pants, his lips swollen and red and slightly parted. The question combined with the burning in his eyes whoever made him look far from confused or submissive. He wanted this and that was written all over him.

But that didn’t mean, that it had to be just like _that_ – with Mikhail taking him from behind – the Russian thought and placed kisses onto the other’s back.

“Yes, I do. But now…”, he did not finish his sentence on purpose, but seized the smaller man around one of his upper arms, turning him onto his back in one quick but hardly forceful movement. Surprise had simply been to his advantage. Parting those long legs with his hands, he laid down between them until his hips were once again pressed against slimmer ones.

Fei Long shuddered beneath him, blinking upwards still in surprise but without any doubt, without any refusal showing on his face. Instead, now one of _his_ hands reached up, stroking the other’s cheek, brushing some of his golden locks.

“I want you to look at me”, Mikhail sighed, rolling his hips against the Chinese’s, enticing a small moan from him.

He continued that, watching Fei Long bite his lower lip, his chest heaving heavily with the lust rushing through his body, tinting it crimson, looking down into his eyes which stared up at him feverishly.

Then Fei Long caught the hair at the back of his neck with his fingers, pulling him down a bit.

“Take me”, he pleaded, and Mikhail reached down, adjusted his position, then pushed himself into the other as slow as time allowed. Never once did he take his gaze from those amethyst eyes, or from those lips parting to pant and hiss at the combination of pain and pleasure from being penetrated to gently and so deeply.

Firmly that hand in Mikhail’s neck pulled him further down, until those lips could reach his own again, until their breaths burned the other’s skin, while the Russian kept moving, less thrusting, more rolling his hips, like he danced a rhythm onto, no, into the other’s body.

Soon enough however Mikhail pushed up again, coming to gaze upon the beautiful face beneath him from inches away, marveling at the blushed cheeks, at the dampness clinging the hair to the head once again and at the feverish shimmer in those eyes.

All the while Fei Long did no let go of his neck, digging his fingers into his skin, not fiercely enough to bruise, but firm enough to not let him slip away for the tiniest bit now.

Writhing beneath the other man, he pushed his hips back once the dance finally became a thrusting, slowly at first, but increasing by time.

“Yes”, he weeped, his voice breathless and trembling, but his eyes not letting go of the other, blazing up into him, while the heat seared and penetrated deep into his body, hopefully burning away all memory anybody else’s touch might ever have left there.

“Yes!”

And Mikhail caught the back of one of his knees with one hand, pushing it up tenderly to reach even deeper into him.

“Yes, Mikhail!”, he cried, pulling the other down fiercely, hugging his head against his own, while they both came at the same time, a white void washing away any thought into oblivion for a while.

Panting for air, Fei Long opened his eyes minutes later, with the other man’s weight still pressing down onto him, perspiration spread like hot oil between their bodies. Blonde locks fell onto his face from the head resting next to his, while Mikhail’s breath steamed against his neck. He closed his arms around the broad back, trailing his fingers lightly across the scars he could make out from his position.

Maybe he could try…, he thought, snuggling his cheek against the other man’s.

Maybe he could allow himself to trust and to lower his defenses _one_ more time.

Maybe he could try to see, if that man could teach him what _love_ truly was.

He wasn’t sure, if he was strong enough, though. That he knew, feeling a sigh catch in his throat, but releasing it.

He wasn’t sure.

But he wanted to try.

{The End..... so far}


End file.
